


Freckles, aka Drunk Etsying

by notnicorette



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notnicorette/pseuds/notnicorette
Summary: Clarke buys a pillow that says 'I want to kiss you as many times as you have Freckles.'I'm sure it has nothing to do with one Bellamy Blake...right?





	Freckles, aka Drunk Etsying

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first prompt fic, guys!
> 
> My friend Erin posted a picture of a pillow on Twitter and said "can someone please write this as a Bellarke AU?!".....so here we are.
> 
> P.S. This was supposed to be complete fluff.......but apparently I can't do complete fluff?

Clarke walked up to the edge of the street with purpose, opened her eyes comically wide, trying to gauge just how high the curb in front of her was…and she still managed to trip over it.

Luckily, Bellamy was there to grab her arm, hauling her back upright before she faceplanted on the sidewalk. 

“Easy there, Princess,” he chided, although without any real heat, giving her a look that she could only describe as fond…although she’d consumed at least seven amaretto sours, so perhaps her judgment was off.

“Bellamyyy,” she whined, her hands grasping his arms.

“What?”

“My feet hurt,” she pouted.

He gave her a look that seemed like half exasperation, half fondness…but again…perhaps her judgment was off.

He turned around, offering her his back.

She eagerly hopped on, wrapping her arms and legs around him, and he immediately placed a hand under each of her thighs, securing her against him.

“Thank youuuu,” she sing-songed in his ear.

“Uh-huh,” he grumbled, heading toward their apartment building.

And if his ridiculously large, ridiculously strong hands were having a disastrous effect on her where they were gripping her bare legs…well…there wasn’t much she could do about that.

Actually, all she could do was wish she’d worn a shorter skirt, but that somehow didn’t seem appropriate.

He walked the next block and a half and then all the way up the two flights of stairs to their apartment…all with her on his back.

When he finally got to their door, she reluctantly slid off so he could fish for his keys in his pocket and then open the door.

He stood in the open doorway, looking at her expectantly, but she stayed in the hallway, using every bit of feminine wile she possessed, her eyes wide and her mouth turned down in a pout.

Bellamy laughed, grabbing her hand to tug her forward and then putting an arm around her waist to steady her. “Kick those stupid shoes off,” he told her.

She did, her heels thunking against the wall in their entryway.

When she turned to look at Bellamy again, she realized he was suddenly much taller than her, and the thought of that did funny things to her stomach.

In everyday life, out in the real world, she loved being a self-sufficient, strong, independent woman who didn’t need a man for anything.

But at certain times…usually when she’d had a little too much to drink and her walls were down…or sometimes even after she’d spent a rainy afternoon slumped against his shoulder while watching Netflix on their couch…she got a fluttery, warm, wholly feminine feeling in her stomach that _loved_ how much bigger Bellamy was than her.

He was taller than her, with impossibly large shoulders and sculpted muscles and hands that starred in most of her fantasies, and the thought of him wrapping himself around her…shielding her from the world…maybe even taking some of the burdens off her shoulders and carrying them on his…it made her feel _safe_ in a way she never felt with anyone else.

There was also something about knowing that he could overpower her easily, but he never would, that got to her. (Unless they were talking about him manhandling her in bed…because that was something she could definitely get behind.)

Clarke shook her head almost comically, trying to get the thought of him using his strength to fuck her senseless out of her head before she did something stupid like tell him he should get on that immediately.

She did, however, decide to use her indisposed state to experience that strength firsthand, as she often did.

She slumped pitifully against his side, and he immediately swept an arm under her knees, lifting her to his chest, as she knew he would.

He always did.

She wrapped her arm tighter around his neck, burrowing her face against his chest and enjoying the next 30 seconds as much as she could.

He held her tightly against him as he walked through their living room, down the short hallway, and into her bedroom.

Long before she was ready for it to be over, he set her down right beside her bed.

She may have let out a tiny whimper when he did so, but she’d never admit it.

“Get ready for bed. I’ll go get you some water,” he said, moving out of her room and shutting the door behind him.

She did as he suggested; peeing, brushing her teeth, and changing clothes.

She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the Bellamy, but she decided to forgo the usual t-shirt and pajama shorts or t-shirt and pajama pants combo she usually wore around the house, instead deciding to sleep in a tank top and her underwear.

She was in said garments…or lack thereof…and standing in front of the mirror on her dresser, trying to unwind the braid she had in the front of her hair and not really succeeding, by the time Bellamy knocked on her door.

“You decent?” he asked.

“Come in,” she called, huffing frustratedly at the knot she was creating of her bangs.

Bellamy opened the door…and stopped short. “I thought you said you were decent,” he croaked.

She shot him a look of exasperation, her fingers still wound in her hair.

He shook his head, as if clearing it from a daze, and walked in, setting a bottle of water and two Advil on her nightstand before coming over to stand behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

“Princess need help with her crown?” he teased.

She wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or glare at him, so she did a bit of both, but then turned around, ending up entirely too close to him…or not close enough, depending on how you looked at it.

He lifted his hands, gently moving hers out of the way and then untangling her braid himself.

The entire time he did, she stared at the solid blue wall that was his chest, covered in the t-shirt she loved most on him.

He finished, smoothing her hair a bit awkwardly, clearing his throat, and stepping back. “Come on, get in bed before you pass out standing up.”

She huffed a bit, but moved toward her bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in.

Bellamy handed her the bottle of water and the Advil, and she took them wordlessly, downing the pills and a decent bit of the water too, then she handed it back to him.

“Sorry you get stuck with me,” she whispered.

His brow furrowed as he looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“Sorry you have to take care of drunk Clarke,” she expanded. “Lincoln always get your sister home, Raven always manages to get herself home, because that’s just who she is, and you always get stuck taking care of me after girls’ night. Bet you’re regretting being my roommate, aren’t you?”

Bellamy tilted his head, that look she could’ve sworn was fondness again covering his face. “I don’t get _stuck_ with you, Clarke. I’d get you home and take care of you even if we weren’t roommates, you know that right?”

She studied him for a minute, then nodded, trying to stop the stupid smile that was spreading across her face but not really succeeding. “Thanks, Bell.”

He put his head down, shaking it in that adorable way he sometimes did, a grin spread across his own face. “Get some sleep,” he told her, slowly walking out of her room and pulling her door shut behind him.

Clarke let out a large breath, staring at the door for a seemingly ridiculous amount of time, wishing she had the balls to tell him to come back in here and do…something.

Anything, really.

Kiss her, make love to her…cuddle with her. She’d pretty much take anything, at this point.

You see, she’d been in love with him for an extraordinarily long time.

It was the kind of love that just showed up out of nowhere. One moment, you were walking beside your best friend, making theoretical and totally ridiculous plans for the eventual nuclear apocalypse while sharing a pretzel in the park…and the next, you were realizing you kind of wanted to marry him, nuclear apocalypse or not.

It was the weirdest thing, but for all the years that Clarke had known Bellamy, and all the memories she had of him, she couldn’t pinpoint an exact time she fell in love with him.

She’d always known he was attractive, but she’d ignored (and vehemently denied) that fact when they’d first met and immediately gotten off on the wrong foot, shouting at each other more often than not.

They’d gotten over their stupid feud rather quickly and become fast friends, but then she’d made a conscious effort to not notice how attractive he was, because what kind of creep checked out their friends?

Then, suddenly one day, he stopped being attractive in an abstract kind of way and started being attractive in a ‘push me up against the wall and have your way with me _now_ ’ kind of way.

This shift happened at the same time she realized she wanted to have his theoretical babies someday, so it was more than a little disconcerting.

What was even more disconcerting though, was the fact that she realized she’d felt that way for quite a while, she just hadn’t put the dots together yet, or at least she hadn’t admitted it to herself yet.

Once she did, everything started to make a lot more sense: the clench she felt in her chest when she saw Bellamy playing with his two-year-old niece, her irrational anger at seeing Roma flirt with Bellamy at the bar, the way she got entirely too uncomfortable when Bellamy came out of his room shirtless, his pajama pants slung low on his hips and his hair mussed from sleep.

All those things she’d written off or found different explanations for over the years…

They all made sense now.

She’d spent the last few months in a sort of tailspin, trying to process the realization that she was in love with her best friend/roommate, but in all honesty, she was really no better off now than she was three months ago, when she’d first figured it out.

She still wasn’t sure if he felt the same way about her.

She still wasn’t sure if telling him would ruin everything.

She still wasn’t sure how to even go about telling him she was in love with him, even if she ever worked up the courage to do it.

Clarke slumped down in her bed, absent-mindedly reaching for her phone as she did.

Her hand slapped around haphazardly on her comforter until she found it, then she brought it to her face, one arm resting on her forehead and holding the top of the phone, the other holding the bottom.

She’d had one too many experiences with drunk Clarke (and sober Clarke, for that matter) dropping her phone on her face, thank you very much.

She sent a text to the group chat she had with Raven and Octavia, but neither of them answered, probably because it was 2 am and they were sleeping off their own hangovers.

Bored, but still not ready to go to sleep, she scrolled through the apps on her phone, randomly clicking on the Etsy icon.

She scrolled through some of her favorite stores, adding a Harry Potter phone case and a coffee mug that said ‘This is probably wine’ to her basket.

She soon got bored of all the yarn she was seeing on the Etsy recommendations page and decided to try searching for something instead.

But what?

Her hazy mind skimmed the list of infinite possibilities that existed, and of course kept coming back to what she could only see as her own bound-to-be-tragic love story.

Somehow, that led her to her favorite on-screen love story, so she quickly typed ‘Kate and Sawyer’ in the search box, and was instantly rewarded with…three results.

The first was a Lost poster, which was cool, but not exactly what she was looking for.

The second was a necklace that actually had the words ‘Kate and Sawyer’ in the name, and she immediately clicked on it to see it in detail.

It had a silver circle, stamped with the words ‘Don’t we deserve somethin’ good?’ on it, a green bead, and two silver charms: one a book and the other a tiny airplane.

Clarke immediately added it to her cart, then went to browse the entire store where she’d found it, because anyone who made Skate jewelry, especially a decade after the show was over, deserved a closer look.

She browsed through dozens of similar necklaces, all with different phrases and charms, stickers, buttons, too many things to count, but they were all ship related.

She eventually scrolled down to the necklace she’d already added to her cart…and her heart almost stopped beating when she saw the item listed beside it.

It was a throw pillow, fairly unassuming and unremarkable in its squareness and grayness…but the words _‘I want to kiss you as many times as you have Freckles’_ were written on it, and it oddly made Clarke want to cry a little, because all she could think about was saying that phrase to Bellamy.

The item was listed as a ‘Sawyer and Kate’ item, because of his nickname for her, obviously, and it just felt like too many stars aligning for her too ignore, so she impulsively added the item to her cart, telling herself that, one day, she’d get the courage to give Bellamy the pillow.

That rather momentous decision made, sleep abruptly started overtaking her, so she quickly favorited the store, went to her cart, and bought both Skate items, deciding to leave the phone case and the coffee mug for another time.

Feeling oddly calm about her decision, she turned her phone off, set it on the bed beside her, and fell asleep within seconds.

 

* * *

 

 

The next week passed without incident. Clarke continued to interact with Bellamy every day, multiple times a day, as roommates usually do, and she managed to keep her feelings in check…for the most part.

There was an incident with her overly full bladder, an unlocked door, Bellamy’s naked, freshly showered behind, her jaw, and the floor, that she’d rather forget, (to be clear, she wanted to forget her embarrassment…not his ass), but other than that, everything went fairly normally.

…because she’d completely forgotten about her drunken, middle-of-the-night purchase.

That blissful ignorance came crashing down abruptly when Bellamy walked in the door from work one day, carrying a package.

He handed it to her. “This was down by the mailboxes for you,” he said.

She put down the charcoal she’d been drawing with, taking the oddly shaped package from him with a frown.

A look at the address label confirmed that it was, indeed, for her, but she didn’t recognize the return address and had no idea what it could contain.

Bellamy must have noticed her confusion, because he asked, “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea what it is. Unless my mom sent me something,” she added as an after-thought.

Shrugging again, she tore open the package, unconcerned about Bellamy watching from a few feet away.

That unconcern flew out the window when she reached inside…and started pulling out a pillow.

She only saw the first few words printed on it, but the memories of her drunken impulse buy from a week ago immediately came flooding back, and she froze, hand still in the bag, her entire body now hyperaware of Bellamy standing on the other side of the coffee table.

“What? You don’t like your present from your mom?” he asked. “Did she buy you sensible khakis again?”

She quickly pushed the pillow back inside the package, gripping the frayed edges back together tightly. “It’s not from my mom. It’s uhh…something I forgot I ordered. I’ll be right back,” she said, jumping off the couch and setting what was probably a world record in terms of the time it took her to reach her bedroom.

Closing the door behind her, she slumped against it, her heart beating at what had to be an unhealthy rate.

She took a few deep breaths, then walked over to her bed, setting the package on it.

She gingerly pulled out the pillow, rereading it and feeling the same gut punch she had the first time she’d seen it.

_I want to kiss you as many times as you have Freckles._

It was such a perfect depiction of how she felt about Bellamy.

Yes, she often wanted to climb him like a tree…but she wanted to pepper him with kisses just as often.

Cause, really…she _adored_ him.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared at the pillow, not just because it was scarily accurate, but also because she remembered the decision she’d come to when she bought it.

She rolled that decision around and around in her mind, trying to imagine what his reaction would be if she walked out there right now and handed him the stupid pillow.

Either he’d be elated, pulling her into his arms and fulfilling those fantasies she often had…or…he wouldn’t be.

And then what? How did you go from a declaration of love…to a rejection…back to being friends and roommates?

It was the thought of that horrifying outcome that spurred Clarke to shove the pillow back in the bag, roll the top tightly, and stuff it in the back of her closet.

 

* * *

 

 

Two more weeks passed without incident, but the entire time, Clarke was oddly aware of the pillow just sitting in the back of her closet, like some Etsy fandom version of an elephant in the room.

She pulled it out multiple times to look at it (and eventually remembered that there was a necklace buried in the bottom of the bag, which she immediately grabbed) but always ended up stuffing it back in her closet, too terrified of the outcome were she to show it to Bellamy.

That all changed when she woke up one morning, a little confused as to where she was or what was happening.

A persistent chirping on her phone alerted her to multiple incoming texts, which were probably what had woken her in the first place.

Grabbing it off her nightstand, she blinked at the screen blearily.

Bellamy (8:30 am): _You up?_

Bellamy (8:35 am): _Come on, Princess. Rise and shine. You’ve got a presentation in a few hours._

Bellamy (8:40 am): _Clarke, if you don’t text me back and let me know you’re up, I’m going to have to leave 22 teenagers alone so I can go outside and call you._

Bellamy (8:40 am): _By the time I get back, at least two couples will be dry humping on the desks and there will be at least three fist fights._

Bellamy (8:40 am): _Wake up. Do it for the kids._

Bellamy (8:41 am): _Do it for my sanity._

Clarke chuckled at his messages, then sent her own reply.

Clarke (8:43 am): _I’m up, I’m up_

Clarke (8:44 am): _Don’t let anybody die…….or procreate…on my account._

Clarke (8:44 am): _Serious question: do you work at a high school or a zoo?_

Bellamy (8:46 am): _Your guess is as good as mine._

Clarke laughed out loud, sliding out of bed and heading into the living room.

She had a big presentation at the art gallery today, trying to convince donors to give money for a new exhibit they wanted to feature, and she’d spent most of the night preparing and practicing for it, and she vaguely remembered falling asleep on the couch sometime around 3 am…which must mean that Bellamy had carried her to bed at some point.

Walking into the living room, she saw he’d also tidied her papers and notes, and he’d apparently also made sure to press save on her Powerpoint presentation and plug in her laptop, which she was pretty sure she’d forgotten to do.

She stood there, staring at everything he must have done at 6 am…for her…when her phone again chirped.

Bellamy (8:53 am): _Good luck today. Go kick ass._

Clarke stood there, staring at her phone, her mind swirling with everything he’d done for her just this morning.

He’d organized her papers, plugged in her laptop AND saved her Powerpoint so she wouldn’t lose it, carried her to bed, and then texted her to wake her up in plenty of time to get ready for her presentation.

Now he’d taken the time out of what she knew was an insane teaching schedule to wish her good luck.

Her heart went a little mushy at how much he cared, and she decided she couldn’t stand this limbo anymore. Something had to give.

She marched into her room, grabbed the pillow from its hiding place, and marched back out into the living room, setting it firmly on the middle couch cushion.

Maybe she wasn’t quite brave enough to actually _give_ him the pillow, but she could set it out and hope he got the not-at-all veiled hint.

Feeling weirdly at peace with her leap of faith, she showered and got ready, gathered up her laptop and her notes, grabbed a Pop-Tart, and took one last look at the new decorative addition to the couch on her way out the door, nodding at it once as if reaffirming her decision.

She pulled the door shut behind her, her mind switching to the presentation she had to give in less than an hour.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke walked in the doorway, kicking her heels against the wall, as was her custom, and letting out a gigantic sigh.

Bellamy stuck his upper body around the corner from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “How did it go?!” he asked.

“I kicked so much ass,” she responded, chuckling tiredly.

She’d already texted him that it had gone well earlier in the day, but she hadn’t had time to explain at all, since she’d then been busy dealing with donations and paperwork, and then immediately calling everyone in to start planning the new exhibit.

Clarke was exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into her bed…until her nose caught a whiff of something that smelled suspiciously like…

“Did you make spaghetti?!” she asked him.

He graced her with a wide smile. “Course I did. Had to celebrate your ass kicking.”

She dropped her bag on the floor, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her body resting tiredly against his. “You’re the best.”

He returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her and holding her for a few long moments. Then, he kissed the top of her head. “Go change. Dinner will be ready in 10.”

She reluctantly released him, plodding into her bedroom to change out of her dress and into a pair of cotton shorts and a sweatshirt she’d stolen from Bellamy months ago.

The change in clothes and the thought of her favorite meal making her feel lighter than she had all day, she stepped back out into the living room…and stopped abruptly when she saw the pillow, exactly where she’d left it this morning, sitting on the center couch cushion.

It might as well have been on fire, for how she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

She eventually swung her gaze toward the kitchen, where Bellamy was putting garlic bread in the oven, if the clanging of the oven door was any indication, and she wasn’t sure what to make of his completely normal behavior.

Had he not seen the pillow?

Did he not get it?

…did he want to forget he’d seen it?

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she walked into the kitchen.

He turned around, greeting her with a smile like he always did. “So tell me about it!” he insisted.

She did, and they spent the rest of the night eating her celebratory dinner, talking about the new exhibit, talking about the two boys he’d had to give detention to because they’d skipped class to smoke cigarettes behind the football field, and then eventually watching Netflix.

Weirdly enough, it seemed like a fairly routine evening for them.

…except there was a giant, glaring…declaration of feelings…sitting on the couch, literally in-between them…and neither of them said anything about it.

Clarke went to bed feeling more confused and anxious than she ever had regarding their relationship, because she really wasn’t sure whether he was rejecting her or if he was just oblivious.

 

* * *

 

 

Another week or so passed…and still, nothing was said about the fucking pillow.

She’d move it from one cushion to another, even moving it to the recliner they never used at one point…and Bellamy still didn’t notice.

She knew, because she’d watch him for a reaction every time he walked in the room after she’d moved it, and his eyes would seemingly skim over it non-chalantly…and he’d carry on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

One evening, while they were spread out on the couch watching Netflix, she’d even gone so far as to ask him to hand her the pillow, and he had, barely sparing a glance away from the TV to hand it to her.

She’d tried to keep her huff of annoyance to herself as she shoved it angrily behind her back.

She wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety over the entire situation or what, but Bellamy almost seemed to be upping his already high attentiveness towards her.

He made her two favorite meals in the same week, even though she knew he was exhausted from teaching all day. He brought her favorite sub to her at the art gallery for lunch on Saturday and stayed to eat with her. He let her drag him to a new sculptor’s showcase across town on Sunday. He brought home a new set of her favorite expensive colored pencils because he’d supposedly been at the art store, buying supplies for a class project, and had seen them on sale.

None of these things were a rare occurrence on their own, but all of them crammed into the space of eight or nine days did seem…a little suspicious.

She _would_ assume that he’d seen her throw-pillow proclamation…except he never acted out of the ordinary when he did any of these things.

He didn’t touch her more often or more intimately, he didn’t say anything even the slightest bit suggestive, and he always acted like his gestures were totally normal…practical, even.

‘I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d bring you lunch while I was down here.’

‘I should probably check out that exhibit anyway. I may want to schedule a field trip before it ends.’

‘We really need to stop ordering in so much. Here, have some roast chicken and scalloped potatoes I made even though I’m dead on my feet.’

It was all beyond confusing (and stressful), and Clarke was nearing her breaking point, deciding that she was either going to have to say something to him about the damn pillow…or hide it back in her closet and pretend like it had never happened.

She kept waffling back and forth, one day deciding she should hide it, the next composing exactly what she would say in a thoughtful, eloquent, logical speech that would make it clear that there would be no hard feelings and nothing need change if he wanted to forget the conversation (and the pillow) had ever happened.

Like most of her best laid plans, however, that went to hell the next day, when Clarke looked up at the sound of Bellamy opening their front door, and he looked a little sheepish, although he was clearly trying to hide it.

She didn’t really understand why, until she saw the flowers in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little less steady than normal. “I passed a woman selling these on my way home. Thought we should…brighten the place up, you know?” he said, words coming out in a bit of a rush.

Clarke didn’t even get a chance to answer (not that she had a response anyway) before he was striding into the kitchen.

She stood there, mouth slightly agape as she realized he’d done it again.

He’d not only brought flowers home (a first-time occurrence), but they were pink carnations, which just happened to be her favorite.

…and then he’d gone and made some excuse for them, just like he had everything else.

Clarke wasn’t sure if she was going crazy or if he was, but she needed to end it.

Now.

He came walking out of the kitchen, sans flowers. “Do you want to get Chinese tonight? I think…”

He stopped abruptly when she chucked _the_ pillow straight at his head.

He managed to catch it, but not before it hit him squarely in the face.

“What the hell, Clarke?”

“Did you see the fucking pillow or did you not see the fucking pillow?” she practically screamed.

“Not before it hit my face. Thanks, by the way,” he answered sardonically.

“Not _now_. Before. It’s been sitting here for a week and a half. Did you just… _not notice_? Are you completely oblivious to what’s in your own apartment?!”

He paused, watching her a bit warily now, still holding the damn pillow. “…I noticed,” he said quietly.

Clarke paused in her rant, some of the wind going out of her sails. He’d noticed, but hadn’t said anything. That must mean… “So you don’t…” she paused, swallowing roughly. “Got it,” she said, starting to turn away.

“No!” he replied quickly. “I…wasn’t sure if…”

Clarke paused, something about the hesitancy, the anxiousness in his voice stopping her from running away. “You weren’t sure if…what?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.

“People buy all kinds of weird shit now. Everything’s got arrows, or fucking pineapples, or says ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ on it…which makes no sense, because the people buying this shit aren’t archers or I don’t know…fruit lovers…and I’d put money on a bet that no one wearing one of those Keep Calm shirts even knows that it was created by the British government during World…”

Clarke couldn’t help the grin that was slowly spreading across her face. “Bellamy.”

He paused in his rambling, looking at her uncertainly, possibly more nervous than she’d ever seen him.

“You thought I bought a pillow that says ‘I want to kiss you as many times as you have Freckles’…and then put it on our couch…and then moved it around every day…and then asked you to _hand it to me_ …because it was…trendy?” she asked, a little incredulous.

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “I didn’t know, but I thought…just in case…I would…” he gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, and she somehow knew he was referring to the flowers, and the other things he’d gotten her or done for her recently.

She should be pissed at his complete lack of game, but honestly, hers was just as bad, at least when it came to him. She was watching him fondly, his face all nervous trepidation and careful hope, and she just _knew_. “Bellamy…” she said quietly, but her voice was steady. “I bought the pillow for you.”

As cliched as it sounded, time seemed to stand still as they stood frozen in place, staring at each other.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You…bought it for me?” he croaked.

She nodded.

That was all the encouragement he seemed to need, because suddenly, the nervousness was gone, replaced with a purposeful intent that made her toes curl, and he strode across the space between them, his hand immediately sliding into her hair as his mouth met hers.

She was pretty sure she sighed into the kiss, because _finally_.

His lips moved confidently against hers, one hand still in her hair and his other arm wrapped around her waist, and she gave in to it completely, bending slightly backwards so they could reach each other more easily.

At some point, he nibbled gently on her lower lip, and she whined low in her throat, opening her mouth for him. His tongue slid against hers, and she immediately lost track of everything but him.

Her hands clung desperately to his upper arms, holding on for dear life as she experienced what was easily the most consuming, mind-numbing kiss of her life.

When they finally broke apart, mostly because they couldn’t breathe, they only moved a few inches away from each other, and they were both staring at each other with astonishment.

They held their wide-eyed stare of amazement for a few seconds before they both chuckled softly.

Clarke ran her hand up his arm, letting it settle in the dip between his neck and his shoulder as she smiled up at him. “Hi,” she whispered.

Because it did feel like a bit of a new beginning. Not that their relationship before hadn’t been important…more like she just finally knew all of him in the way she was supposed to.

He must have understood, because he smiled softly back at her. “Hi.”

She stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “So…uh…the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t know if the pillow…said what I needed it to.”

“You don’t want to kiss me as many times as I have freckles?” he teased.

“No, I definitely do. I also want to kiss all of your freckles,” she added, her thumb rubbing the side of his neck. “But I uhh…I’m kind of in love with you,” she said breathlessly, her eyes searching his a bit desperately.

There was a big difference between kissing someone enthusiastically and being in love with them, and she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake and sprung too much on him too soon.

To her relief, he seemed to relax immediately against her. “I’m all the way in love with you,” he admitted, voice low.

They moved toward each other, their lips meeting again, although they couldn’t exactly kiss properly with the grins they were both sporting.

Eventually, they pulled apart again.

“You couldn’t just tell me that?” he teased. “You had to buy a pillow and hope I suddenly took an interest in interior design?”

She glared at him, just a bit. “You couldn’t just tell me that? You had to carry me to bed and send me cute wake-up texts and _save my Powerpoints for me_ and buy me flowers and then _act like they weren’t for me_?!” she retorted.

He pulled her against his chest, chuckling into her hair. “We’re kind of terrible at this.”

She wrapped her arms securely around his waist, tilting her head back to look at him. “Nah. We were terrible at that part…but I think we’re going to be great at the rest of it.”

He matched her unguarded, hopeful smile with one of his own. “Yeah, I think we are,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her gently.

 

* * *

 

 

_A year later_

 

Clarke padded into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Bellamy’s waist and resting her forehead against his back as he stirred the spaghetti sauce on the stove.

He turned around, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he mumbled into her hair.

She nodded, but made no move to release him until the oven timer dinged, indicating the garlic bread was done.

Even then, she did so reluctantly, and she tilted her head up for a kiss, which he more than willingly gave.

They worked together for the next few minutes, getting everything ready, then they carried their plates into the living room so they could binge watch Netflix, as they often did.

Clarke sat on the couch and watched while Bellamy moved the infamous pillow so he could sit beside her.

She smiled, as she always did when she saw the pillow.

“You know…we’re going to have the oddest story to tell our kids someday,” she mused.

He looked at her a bit oddly, eyebrows raised in question.

“We’re going to have to tell them the pillow story when they ask how we finally got together,” she answered.

He tilted his head back, laughing. “It’s a pretty great story, Clarke. At least it’s unique,” he added, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

The pillow was now the stuff of legend amongst their friends and family; it was joked about on a regular basis and immediately relayed to any new member or significant other that joined the group.

Clarke and Bellamy had fallen into a relationship even easier than they’d fallen into friendship…it just seemed inevitable.

They were so sure of their feelings for each other and of the genuine devotion that existed between them, even without the romantic aspect, that they both knew from very early on that they were a permanent sort of thing.

Three months ago, he’d proposed, and she’d been more than happy to say yes.

They hadn’t really talked about setting a date yet, but neither of them were worried about it.

Again, it just seemed inevitable and they were both extremely happy at the moment, so neither of them were stressing about bridesmaids and flowers and vows.

Clarke currently had a tiny little secret that could change everything though.

She was over a week late, and even though she hadn’t taken a pregnancy test yet, some part of her just _knew_ that she was carrying their child.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide the smile that was forming, lest he see it and ask her about it.

She wasn’t trying to keep it from him…she just wanted to be sure she was actually pregnant before she got his hopes up.

Because although it was fairly early in their relationship (at least their romantic one), and although they weren’t married yet, she knew he would be just as excited about this as she was, if not more so.

Children, just like everything else with them, seemed inevitable and just so _right_ , she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset that their first one might show up a little earlier than planned.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took a bite of spaghetti, his gaze intent on the historical fiction series he’d picked out on Netflix.

He was stubborn, often grouchy, and he worked harder than any one man should. He made amazing spaghetti, went out of his way to bring her carnations every chance he got, and went to every new art exhibit she wanted to see without a single complaint. He protected her, and cared for her, and _loved_ her like he did everything else…with his whole heart.

And he was _hers_.

And she was 99% sure they were going to have a _baby_.

As soon as she’d realized she was late and done the math back to a particularly… _active_ …night when they hadn’t been as careful as they should have…she’d immediately hatched a plan for how to tell him.

She’d gone back to Etsy…back to the same shop that had spurred her to action a year ago…(although this time she was obviously sober)…and contacted the owner to see if she could make a custom pillow in the same color and style as the pillow that had started this all.

The owner had agreed, and the custom pillow should arrive within the next week or so.

Clarke had decided to at least _give_ this one to Bellamy, rather than setting it out and hoping he started reading their décor again.

The custom pillow arrived three days after she’d gotten two different positive pregnancy tests, and she cried when she saw it for the first time.

That same night, Bellamy also cried when she gave it to him.

_‘I hope you have as many freckles as your Daddy.’_

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fun fact. My friend Erin that prompted this fic? She actually owns the Etsy store in this fic, and she's got awesome Bellarke stuff. Go check it out! 
> 
> [Fangirl Problems Inc](https://www.etsy.com/shop/FangirlProblemsInc)


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